


‘Tween the Dream and the Real

by modernepitaph



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Spoilers, M/M, Not sure why I did this to myself on this our holy day of Steve Rogers, canon character death, steve Turns 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernepitaph/pseuds/modernepitaph
Summary: Steve spends his 100th birthday in Bucky’s Wakanda house. Alone.





	‘Tween the Dream and the Real

Heat lightning jumped from cloud to cloud, lighting the path through the fields. A goat bleated mournfully, as if their world too had been turned inside out with a simple snap of the finger.

Steve pushed aside the curtain in the doorway to the small house he’d visited before. Everything was exactly where he remembered: a bed with its straw mattress pushed off in the corner, threadbare sofa in front of the fireplace kitchen set, notebooks stacked haphazardly on a table with rickety legs. 

If he closed his eyes, he could still imagine the smell of the hotcakes Bucky had made for him over the coals on the hearth, proudly showing off something the children in the village had shown him, eagerly waiting for Steve to try. They’d been a little dry but the tentative smile on Bucky’s face had been worth it.

He grabbed the top notebook and opened to the first page. The familiar scrawl threatened to overwhelm him without even reading a word. 

On the page was a list of disjointed thoughts. 

-1944 fell  
-1917  
-captain america out of ice in 2012 (???)  
how is he alive??  
-brooklyn ny  
-steven grant rogers (i know him - how, why?)

“Because we’ve been friends our whole lives, Buck,” he said aloud with meaning to. He shuts the book, shuts his eyes, lets his chin drop to his chest.

He grabbed a different book, one with Steve’s shield on the cover, something that Bucky had found endless delight in. Steve’s seen this one before, had spent evenings in this hut watching Bucky writing in it, a content look on his face. 

He sat sideways on the bed, pushing out the indent in the straw of the last time Bucky slept there, scooting to put his back against the wall, his legs dangling child-like off the side, too far to reach the floor.

He flipped to a random page.

_Mar 10_

_Steve-_

_I turned 101 today. Never thought I’d life to see 30, much less over 100. Wonder how many years I’ve actually been alive, unfrozen. I’ve tried the math but it just gives me a headache, and I’m sure there are years I’m not remembering, especially near the beginning. I’m not sure I was unfrozen at all during the 50s._

_I wish you were here for this, but I understand why you’re not. You never could let a bully get away with anything, and we both know hydra could use a good kick in the ass. I wish I could be out there with you, but we both know why I can’t, least of which is that I’m just not ready. I’ll let you know as soon as I am, pal. It’ll be like old times._

_Anyway I’m going to eat this dry ass cake that I may have actually used salt in by mistake instead of sugar._

At the bottom of the page, there’s a second small note: _it’s fucking salt_ with a little sad face drawn next to it.

Steve smiled and let his head thump against the stone wall behind him. His breath hitched and his smile turns downwards, a tear escaping down the side of his face.

He opened the book toward the middle.

_this is wrong. i’m wrong. THIS IS WRONG._

A bad day, then. Steve wondered idly how many days Bucky sat in this place, suffering alone. How many nights Steve laid awake in a strange motel in a strange city in Europe, surrounded by Natasha and Sam and strategy and information but feeling so utterly lost and alone.

 _Sam_ , Steve thought. _Fucking Sam. Him too._

He took a deep breath and flipped through the pages again, found the most recent entry, the last entry before-

_  
June 4_

_Steve-_

_In a month I won’t be the only asshole over 100 finally!_

_I hope you take half a second to think about yourself and do something nice. Maybe you’ll show up here and I can show you around properly, go into the city instead of making you deal with these jerkoff goats all the time._

_I’ll even bake you a cake and I promise there won’t be any salt in it (probably)._

That was a month ago. Today, July 4th. He really had forgotten, as if it mattered. As if anything mattered anymore. Bucky was gone, Sam was gone, T’challa, Wanda. Maybe Tony? Pepper? People he had loved, people he had never met, but still couldn’t save. Never fast enough, never strong enough, never there.

He shut the book and sat upright, still, when he heard soft footsteps outside. A hand came through the curtain and for a split second Steve forgot, and fully expected that long brown hair and a wisecrack about Steve still being in bed.

Instead, the lightning illuminated blonde hair and a sympathetic face.

“Hey Steve.”

He hastily scratched the tears into his beard, rubbing over his eyes and down to his neck, leaning back against the wall.

Natasha looked around the room, taking it in before making her way to sit next to Steve.

She sat close, curling her arm under Steve’s, taking his hand in hers, intertwined their fingers. Leaned her head against his shoulder and squeezed his hand. 

“It’s my birthday,” he said, sniffing and clearing the emotion from his throat. “One hundred.”

Goats sounded again from outside, a tinkling bell from one of their collars, a low rumble of thunder in the distance. An otherwise empty house, the smell of Bucky Steve swears he can still pick up, though he knows it’s probably in his imagination. 

Natasha took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Happy birthday, Steve.”


End file.
